Aurelia Stark, the girl with everything. Only daughter of billionaire, Tony Stark, she has anything a girl could of ever wish for. But when her father goes missing in the Afghanistan desert, the cracks in her seemingly perfect life start to show.
Wh...
I'm dedicating every day to you Domestic life was never quite my style When you smile, you knock me out, I fall apart And I thought I was so smart -Dear Theodosia, Leslie Odom Jr
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March 18th 1990 Stark Manor, Upstate New York
March eighteenth, nineteen ninety was a quiet day. A quiet morning. The kind of morning where it feels like winter has come to an end: the sun shone bright and a few white clouds dotted the otherwise blue sky. It was the kind of morning where you hear the birds chirping, feel the gentle breeze on your skin, squint up at the sky and tell yourself it's summertime now. All of the surprises of winter are over now.
A sunny day.
Tony Stark didn't wake up with the birds. He woke up with a start, feeling as though he'd only just drunkenly slumped down into bed. He glanced at the girl sleeping next to him then grimaced at the pounding rotating his head had brought on. Still, he dragged himself up and snuck out of the unfamiliar bedroom as quickly and quietly as he could. He was greeted by a scolding from his father the moment he entered his home. His mother, Maria, calmed the pair down and he skulked up to his room.
He didn't make it far. He was halfway up the stairs when a knock sounded on the front door. His hand was on the doorhandle to his bedroom when his father's voice bellowed from downstairs, pounding of the walls of the country home, so loud it send shivers shooting up the young man's spine.
"Anthony!"
Howard screamed for the subsequent hour, in the living room, in the car, in the hospital corridors, and in the car again. Maria sobbed gently, clutching Tony's hand then dropping it repeatedly, covering her face with her hands and murmuring to herself.
Tony didn't say a word. For the first time in his life, he was speechless.
The family returned home. The entire family.
The living room was silent: Howard sat on the sofa, head resting on his tightly clenched fists; Tony stood at the window, scuffing the toe of his shoes against the pristine wooden floor, looking out the window, at his shoes, anywhere that wasn't the centre of the room. There Maria stood, a small, white bundle cradled in her arms.
She looked up at her son for a moment, a sympathetic frown on her face, "Tony," she called, her voice soft, "do you want to hold her?" He didn't answer. "She's beautiful, Anthony. She has your eyes." The baby giggled softly, "And your smile."
Howard's head suddenly snapped up to his son, "Great, now we have another Tony Stark on our hands. Just what I wanted."
"Oh yeah, because this is exactly what I wanted too," Tony drawled.
"Well maybe you should have thought about that," he seethed, bolting up and storming over to his son, "this is your problem to deal with, not mine!"
"Howard!" his wife snapped, "She is your granddaughter not a problem."
